half my heart is in your chest
clark kent x fem!reader | 7k words
summary : 4 times you and clark cross the line of what friendship entails + the 1 time the two of you do something about it
warnings : power outage, slight insecurity, they have to share a sofa, migraine attack, a creepy guy hits on reader, injuries and blood, two very small suggestive remarks, love confession, inspired by meet me halfway from the black eyed peas
1.
Lois is gaping at you.
Her hand stalls before her lips touch the rim of the mug, no doubt containing a detrimental amount of sugar in it. You worry for her health sometimes.
"Are you in love with him?" She sputters out, furrowing her brows after you hush her quickly.
"No! It's just concert tickets, what's wrong with that?" Self-consciously, you hug the envelope you're holding onto to your chest.
"Just? I, I just mean that concert tickets are expensive! As if that weren't considerate enough, it's his favourite band." Lois shakes her head, her puzzlement evident.
You look down and twist the envelope around. You grit your teeth, sighing. It's just concert tickets, it's simply a thoughtful gesture. You are not in love with Clark. That's a ridiculous notion.
He might be charming, and incredibly handsome, and yes, you have thought about him and his glasses too much, but that doesn't equal to you being in love.
Lois lets out a low gasp. You look back up to see her face contorting in an expression of pure disbelief.
"You- No way! You pressed lipstick kisses onto the envelope! You, Miss it's-just-concert-tickets, are head over heels. Ha, I knew it! Jimmy, get over here!" She pumps her fist in the air victoriously, grinning as wide as she does when she receives a go-ahead from Perry.
Jimmy spares you two a glance from his desk, reluctantly setting down the camera he'd been fumbling around with. He clicks his tongue, but still makes his way over.
"Listen here. She got Clark two concert tickets to the Mighty Crabjoys, and look at the envelope," she points to where you're clutching it. "She even put kisses with lipstick on it. This isn't a thing you do for friends, right?"
"Lois!"
Both of them ignore your hiss, and Jimmy widens his eyes. Not a second later, he smirks and waggles his eyebrows at you.
"Lipstick? That seems to lean towards a gesture the entire population would deem romantic. What's the occasion, Lovergirl? And two tickets? Why?"
You clear your throat. "A thank you present. He got me that Interview with Superman, and one of my articles finally made the front page. It's the least I can do, and the second ticket is for if he wants to invite a friend with him. And don't call me that!"
You whip your head towards the elevators in case Clark has arrived yet. He's late, which isn't unusual at all, but it also means you rarely know at what time he'll arrive. It's a waiting and guessing game each morning, but you're the only one who plays it.
As if on cue, the elevator doors whir open to let out no one other than Clark, who is doing an awkward half-jog and half-run to get to you. Quickly you shoo Jimmy and Lois away, and turn towards Clark the second he's in a smaller distance to you.
He fiddles with his dark blue tie and slows down as he approaches his desk, which is situated adjacent to yours.
"Good morning! How are you?" He sets down a dark grey cup of coffee on your desk, and sets his leather bag down by his chair.
He's oblivious to your panic. A smaller version of you, dressed as an angel, sits on your shoulder and encourages you to give him the letter. To show your gratitude and make him smile, because seeing Clark happy makes your heart soar.
The seat on your other shoulder is similarly occupied by a little you with a pitchfork and dressed in red, swinging its fists up and down and telling you to hide the envelope before he sees it.
You have to give him the tickets. Not only as a thank you, but because you want only joy for him. You want to do something for him too for once, you want to be the reason he's smiling and in a good mood.
You clear your throat and stretch your arm out, holding the envelope with just two fingers. He startles, looks down at the letter and the kisses littering it, resembling a deer caught in headlines.
"A small present. A thank you for landing me an Interview with Superman. You knew how much I was struggling to get on the front page, and you helped me. I owe you one. Thank you Clark."
You know it hadn't been hard for him to arrange the Interview. Superman had shown up, charming and incredibly chivalrous, but his eyes — you had instantly known, they were the same eyes as Clark's. His eyes have been ingrained in your mind from the day you first met him, you would recognise the warm blue of them anytime. You've known from that moment that Clark is Superman. You won't confront him about it, you've decided after a lot of thought. Maybe in the future, but for now, you'd like to avoid that conversation, because how do you inform someone that you are aware of their secret identity?
At your words, a wide smile grows on his face and he looks down, bashful. Meekly, he grabs the envelope with both hands and brushes his thumb over the red prints, his face heating up.
"You, I…This is really sweet, thank you. You didn't have to get me anything." His voice wobbles a small bit.
"Maybe I didn't have to, but I wanted to." You hope your expression conveys the love you feel for him.
Lois was right. You are in love with Clark Kent. There were far more worse fates. If falling in love with him is your fate, then you'll happily accept it. You turn on the spot and sit down in your chair, trying your hardest not to sneak a glance at him as you hear the sound of an envelope being opened slowly.
You click open the report you're currently working on tirelessly, typing lots of random letters to make it seem like you are busy. You hear nothing from Clark for a few seconds and your throat closes up. Does he not like them? Did he already have tickets for their next performance?
He coughs and calls your name with affection imbued in his voice. You look up at lightning speed and are alarmed to see his watery eyes.
"Thank you, this is…" He pauses, speechless. "This is so sweet. Uh, would you like to accompany me? I, uh, I'd love to experience it with you." His gaze drops down every few seconds to blink rapidly.
You open your mouth to answer, but the words get caught on their way out. You nod, giving him a soft smile.
For a few moments too long, the two of you share fond looks instead of working, neither of you aware of Lois and Jimmy high fiving a few feet away.
2.
The Daily Planet is much more peaceful in the late evening. The overhead lights are dimmed, the small TV screens mounted to the wall posts have been switched off, and everyone else has gone home. It feels empty, unlike its usual self, like you're exploring an abandoned building where you shouldn't be. The printers have gone to sleep, and all the chairs are tucked into their respective desks. What is the same though, are the piles of drafts, new stories and photographs strewn across every table.
It's how Metropolis's famous newspaper works. It thrives in chaos, always chasing the adrenaline. There's no rest for all reporters, taking the stories from the day back home with them, the heartwarming and the depressing ones. You've gotten used to it. When you'd first started here, it had been a sensory nightmare, and it had taken you some time to get used to it. Now? Now you happily take on the thrill of researching and writing, no matter how stressful. You flourish here, like a surfer choosing the strongest wave, confident and stubborn enough to ride the biggest wave of the daunting ocean.
Clark sits at his own desk, right across yours. He was clever enough to get a small lamp to put next to his monitor, which casts him in a warm, orange light which makes him look like he's basking in a sunset instead of an empty office. You two are the only ones left, working on your respective articles. You would bet your all that he's working on his next Superman Interview with himself, which will surely snag the position as a headliner once again. You can't be one to complain, after all Clark did arrange an Interview between you and Superman and he'd shown up, after you'd let it slip once that you desperately wished for one of your articles to be a headliner too.
Either way, the happiness radiating from Clark each time his name is on the front of the paper is worth it.
Each time his article succeeds, you'll see that bashful smile of his. It's slightly restricted, like he's trying to force it back to not appear as though he is bragging or feeling superior, but still proud of his achievement and wanting to share his joy with others.
And, if anyone deserves it, it's Clark. His heart is so pure, and his actions are always so sincere, that every time he gives you that dorky smile of his you're tempted to offer him everything you have. His happiness is infectious, infecting even those whose hearts are injured. Yes, if there's one thing you know for certain, its that he deserves only the best.
And honestly, if you had a secret identity as a superhero, you too would use it to your advantage.
Your article has been abandoned halfway, and you've taken to admiring him. He's so handsome, surely he must know this? Not only does his soul make him attractive, but for goodness sake, he might be the prettiest man you've ever laid eyes on. It's hard to look away from him. A sigh escapes you, because oh how you wish to let him know everything you've been feeling for him. Falling in love with Clark happened before you had even realised it. Your crush on him has worsened ever since he took you to the Mighty Crabjoys concert with him. The domesticity of doing that together had lured you into a new reality, where the two of you did the most mundane things together. It made you realise you want to live with him, love him, to be together.
You sigh deeply, and it must have been louder than you thought, for Clark, ever the attentive friend, glances up at you, eyebrows raising slightly in curiosity.
"What's wrong? Is it your article? I can help you if you need some feedback or tips."
You scramble your brain for an excuse.
"Yeah, actually. It's just…the sentence structure! Yeah. It's a bit off? I'm afraid it sounds too…clunky, so far. You know?"
He pushes his chair back and stands up, and you have to lean your head back to look up at him. Clark is very tall, even though his shoulders slouch forwards a bit, and you're not ashamed to admit you've thought about climbing him like a koala bear. Only to see what it his point of view is, of course. But then your thoughts would drift off to him giving you a piggy back ride when one of your heels break, like in those cheesy rom-coms that are shown on TV each Friday evening.
Clark rounds the desk and comes to a halt behind you, his left hand grabbing onto the headrest of your chair, and bracing himself on your desk with the other one. He leans down, and his face is impossibly near to yours. In this new angle, you could press a kiss to his cheek if you turned your head any further. Hypothetically. In your dreams.
It would be weird. You're not sure if Clark likes you back yet, so you'd rather not risk ruining your friendship with this. Or worse, HR getting involved somehow.
There aren't surveillance cameras here, right?
"I don't see any issues, this is amazing. The sentence structure is easily understandable by anyone who has more than 86 billion nerve cells. You should send it to Perry when you finish it, this could make the front page!" He grins at you.
You swallow nervously, and return his wide smile with a tiny one of yours. Clark always praises your work, reassuring your hidden insecurities. And he never makes you feel stupid or less intelligent, instead always giving you detailed and helpful advice. He's also still right next to you.
His fragrance is rich, the warm scent of sandalwood enveloping you like a thick blanket on a cold night. You feel yourself relax and lean towards him slightly.
You feel too hot now, even though you know the temperature in the room hasn't changed. But you're finding it hard to breath and your body feels weaker. Not nauseous, necessarily, just a bit winded, like you ran a marathon. You've never actually ran a marathon, but you imagine this is how people feel like after one.
You grin at him and resist the urge to brush away his curls which almost fall into his eyes.
"Thank you Clark. Really, I appreciate it."
"Of course! If you need more help, um, I'm here."
He nods enthusiastically, smiles at you and goes to sit back down. You check to make sure that he's concentrated on his own work again, before opening a new tab and typing quickly.
what does having 86 billion nerve cells mean?
You click on the first page to appear, the site loading.
The human brain is made up of about 86 billion nerve cells, along with…
Aha. Your heart warms. You know it was meant to be a compliment, but there are still people who have all their nerve cells and believe the earth is flat.
Wait.
He does knows the earth is round…doesn't he? He did mention he attended Metropolis University once. You shake your head, what a stupid thought. Of course Clark knows the earth is round.
You peek at him over the top of the display, only to make eye contact with him. Right as your eyes meet, the entire room is clouded in full darkness. Your screen shuts down, and even the tiny lamp on Clark's desk is now dark. The only light that fills the enormous newsroom are the warm city lights visible from the windows, which isn't much of a light source, considering you two are on one of the highest floors of the high-rise building. A startled yelp fills your ears, and it takes you a moment to notice that it came from you.
"What the hey?" Clark's mutter, although quiet, seems so loud to you. You can't make out a lot in the dark, your hearing sharpening in order to accustom yourself to having your sight interfered with.
"Uh, Clark? Is your desktop also not turning back on? I keep clicking the start up button but…nothing."
"Nope, mine isn't working either. And my lamp isn't either!"
Your lips tug up at the corners, and you bite your lip to avoid letting out a chuckle. You can hear the frown in his voice, sounding as though his lamp will never turn back on again. He's so full of love, you think. He cares for everyone, even new people he's meeting for the first time. He loves animals, and now you can add lamps on to the list.
"I think it's a power outage," you head to the windows, and examine the buildings across from you. The other skyscrapers facing you have lit up windows, and one look reveals the streetlamps are in great condition.
"Maybe it was a sign from the universe telling us to go home and get some sleep. Do you want to walk together- what? What's wrong?" As soon as you turn to face Clark, his face makes you halt.
He's grimacing with a guilty expression and is scratching the back of his head. Guilty? Perplexed? You can't tell.
"Uh, I have bad news. Like, bad bad. The elevators aren't working. Because of this power outage. We can't leave the building until the power comes back on."
Shit. You groan and roll your neck, wincing at a small cracking sound that ensues. Your body is screaming for your velvety sheets and your cloud-like mattress.
"That could take until tomorrow morning."
Hm. Clark must be strong. You would know, you've seen his biceps when he stretches his arms during work, the same work you often ignored in order to stare at him. He is Superman after all, he can probably bench press this entire building without breaking a sweat. You can't ask him to do that without revealing you know his secret though.
And then you realise. It's like a light bulb appears over your head, except that it's not an idea, no. It's an enlightenment, because the elevator still needs power to run. You close your eyes and take a deep breath. Maybe you're one of those people whose 86 billion brain cells only work part-time.
"So we're stuck here for the night. We can't stay awake until tomorrow morning."
He pouts slightly in thought. "There's a sofa in the break room. I, I don't know long it is though."
You hear footsteps, and you can feel Clark's palm facing upwards, his arm stretched out towards you.
Oh. You're about to hold his hand. You slip your fingers into him, and clutch his hand tightly.
You are so going to take the chance. You're momentarily surprised at how firm, yet gentle his grip is and how his hand almost fully covers your smaller one. Comparisons are running rampantly through your mind, filing this moment away for later when you're trying to sleep. His hands are surprisingly soft, and you feel a sense of safety washing over you.
Clark starts guiding you towards the break room, which is on the other side of the windows, shrouded in darkness. He leads you around the corners of desks and pillars assuredly, and you keep forgetting that he has powers. You know they are the same person, but it always slips your mind because right now, he's just your Clark. A weight settles on your back, and he is holding your shoulders with his arm. Your heart skips a few beats and picks up rapidly, and it's almost as if Clark can sense it, for he softly squeezes your shoulder.
The door to the small, quaint room creaks harshly and you take a sharp intake of breath, the loud noise reverberating in the silence and bearing a resemblance to the sound effects you'd hear in a horror movie.
Clark takes his arm back and fumbles with his pockets and his blazer, although you cannot see what he is searching for in the dark. He lets out a small hum of triumph, and you blink to adjust your eyes as a bright white light illuminates the room for you.
He waves his phone when he sees you turn towards him and nearly stops your heart with his beaming smile and dimples.
The room isn't the biggest, but it does hold a small kitchen and a long sofa, which means you and Clark won't have to craft a place to sleep out of desk chairs.
"You can take the sofa, I'll be alright on the floor."
"Clark, I'm not going to make you sleep on the hard ground, it's about as comfortable as a pile of rocks."
"It's no problem! Really, believe me, I'd feel better knowing you have something soft and warm to rest on." He waves his hands, gesturing for you to lay down.
"How about we…share? That way we can both avoid waking up with our spines in agony. And it's only one night."
The small amount of light helps you see Clark better, and if you're not being deceived by your eyes, a flush creeps up his neck and you can see the gears turning in his head. Probably weighing the pros and cons. Or thinking of how to politely decline.
"Uh, I don't want to make you uncomfortable-"
"Clark, love, it's okay. If I were uncomfortable at the notion I wouldn't have suggested it. Plus, that way I can leech off of your body heat. I'm quite sure the heaters also went off."
You want to bash your head repeatedly against the broken microwave on the counter at the slip of your tongue. Love? A pet name, really? In your haste to reassure him it had just come out. It saddens you when you see Clark stuttering or sacrificing his own comfort in order to appease others, rushing to get him smiling again.
This time, you can see for sure that he's blushing, the apples of his cheeks taking on a light pink hue. You reach for his hand again, and pull him with you, his feet stumbling behind you.
You come to a stop before the small black sectional sofa, mentally calculating how you're going to fit onto it. The only option that has any possibility of working is if you and Clark lay close next to each other on your sides. You just hope it'll be okay with him. You didn't think about how awkward it would be to actually lie down and you wish you could press a button to skip a few seconds forward.
"You can lay down first, make yourself comfortable. I'll lay on the edge so you don't fall off." Clark speaks to you softly, and you wonder if your distress was apparent on your face.
You push off your heels in the most graceless manner possible, being forced to bend down to loosen the adjustable strap of the shoe. You stagger on the spot when you raise your foot to finally pull it off and you thank all the lucky stars in the sky tonight that you didn't face plant into the floor.
Clumsily, you crawl onto the soft cushions and you rest your back against the pillows. You twist around and grab two decorative pillows, one for you and one for Clark. You set his pillow next to yours and only then do you lay down fully, sinking into it.
In the meantime, Clark has gotten rid of his own shoes and blazer, holding the throw blanket that had been hanging over the back of the sofa. His phone lays on the armrest, the flashlight facing upwards. He hesitates for a split-second, before deciding on his strategy. He sits down and then scoots onto his side, finally settling down.
And if your heart almost beats out of your chest when he delicately pulls the throw blanket over the both of you, tucking it securely around your shoulder, then that remains a shared secret between you and his super hearing.
You pull him closer to you underneath the blanket by his white shirt, the last thing you want is him falling off. He fails to suppress a yawn, which in turn triggers a yawn of your own.
He whispers now.
"Sleep well, I hope you have sweet dreams."
You mumble the words back to him in a hushed manner, your eyes slowly closing of their own accord. With Clark next to you, you fall asleep faster than you ever have.
-
Sunlight is streaming into the large office space in warm rays of dark orange. The Daily Planet has opened for another hectic work day, the first desk chairs are being pulled out, and Lois and Jimmy stand in the door to the break room. They're giggling and shushing each other, silently making their way to the two figures on the sofa.
Mere minutes later, their phones are full with pictures of their two coworkers in deep sleep, their limbs intertwined like a puzzle. Clark's cheek rests against your forehead and your nose is nuzzled in the crook between his jaw and throat. Your arms are wrapped tightly around each other like two puzzle pieces, and they don't have the heart to disturb the two friends who are clearly deeply in love.
3.
Patrons are chattering at top volume, groups of girls are screeching in order to be heard and the bartender is occupied at the other end of the counter, despite your attempts to flag them down.
Steve had invited some of you to a hang out after another week of successful work at the Daily Planet and had not taken any declinations as an answer. Cat, Jimmy, Lois, Steve, Perry and Clark are sitting at a round booth towards the back of the rowdy bar. You'd much prefer to be at home in your pyjamas, stuffing your face with food and watching a new movie, but you don't seem to be the only one.
Clark has been more reserved this evening, a silent tiredness apparent in his posture. His shoulders have been slumped for a few hours now and you've seen him force himself to keep his eyes open. Even his smile is dimmer, so you hope, more for his sake than yours, that you all head out soon.
Superman had caught the attention of the news once again this morning after battling an abnormal and mystifying creature that had spawned out of thin air. Clark had also been late to work today. You're surprised no one else suspects it, but the glasses do their best job at disguising him and keeping his identity from being revealed.
You're about to give up and head back to the table, but someone sidles up closely next to you. You snap your head to your left.
It's not someone you know, instead it's a stranger. He smiles down at you, but it's more of a creepy smirk. Fear creeps into you, dreading the rejection you no doubt have to deliver.
"Hey there pretty lady. What's your name?" His voice sounds like nails on a chalkboard and you clench your teeth.
"Sorry, I'm not interested." You force a fake smile, trying your best to be pleasant. You step back and he grabs onto your arm tightly, forcefully pulling you back forwards.
"Come on, don't be like that."
His grip is bruising and your heart pounds in your chest vigorously. Your mind is running speedily, trying to figure out how to get out of this situation. The bartender is still in conversation with other customers, and the people around you seem not to have noticed your predicament yet.
Suddenly a heavy weight settles at your back, startling you. They pry the man's fingers off of you and step in front of you.
"She said she's not interested. Back off." Clark is rigid and he sounds furious. You cannot recall a time where he has ever been angry.
"Dude, we were just talking-" The stranger puts his hands up, shrinking back when Clark interrupts him.
"I suggest you leave. Now. And don't you dare ever lay your hand on a woman again." He leans down to warn the man, who in turn gives him dirty look before storming away.
Clark whirls around, his hands falling to your shoulders and his face a picture of pure concern.
"Are you okay? Did he hurt you in any way? What a prick." He lets out a small huff as you launch yourself into his embrace. He wraps his arm around you, burying his face in your hair. His other hand cradles the back of your head and you tuck your head beneath his chin.
Clark doesn't let go of your hand for the rest of the night, and takes to rubbing his thumb soothingly over the back of your hand under the table.
4.
Your eyes are blurring, and you can't make out any words that are currently displayed on your monitor. It feels like an icepick is being hammered into your temple, going as far as behind your eyeball.
The inside of your head is pulsating rhythmically, like a monotone beat occurring every few seconds, and no matter how many times you blink or rub your temples, you can feel your eyes throbbing. The blaring light of your screen aren't particularly helping, but what else can you do?
You've taken multiple painkillers already, yet none of them have kicked in.
Shrill telephones ring, workers are bustling around creating a hectic atmosphere in the office, and the overhead lights are a blinding shade of white. It's the same cold and clinical colour as a hospital, and you cannot believe someone truly approved these lights. You're going to put a complaint in. At this point you'll even pay for the costs of new, warmer lamps.
Try as you might, you cannot suppress your yawn, remembering to cover your mouth a the last possible minute. The last thing you needed was someone seeing you with your mouth wide open, resembling a Venus flytrap.
You must look as bad as you feel, catching Lois's eyes. She's twirling a black ballpoint pen in one hand, and holding the standard black Telephone in the other. She waits for you to acknowledge you see her, before mouthing something that looks like "Are you okay?"
You plaster a smile onto your face, throwing her a thumbs up. Although hesitant, she nods once and replies to the other person on the end of the line. She'll definitely come over later to ask you personally, and you'll have to softly ward her off with empty assurances. She swivels in the opposite direction with her desk chair, and you take this as an opportunity to push yourself back with your feet planted firmly onto the laminated floor.
Pushing your keyboard further up, you cross your arms and rest your forehead into them. It's a reprieve from the harsh lighting, and here, in your little safe corner, the strain on your eyes lifts by the smallest bit. Still, it is better than nothing.
Even as you're trying to tune out the sounds from around you, your ears hone in on one sound in particular. Not just one sound, lots of little ones which follow each other. Your heart would recognise that sound even if it were muffled.
Low and deliberate footsteps make their way towards you, increasing in volume the closer they get.
You could recognize Clark with all your senses by now. After growing closer to him over the course of the past year, you can now differentiate him from others simply by the sound of his footsteps. He treads cautiously, almost as if he's holding back from walking too loudly. Like he's trying to avoid drawing attention to him, so he makes himself appear smaller.
"Are you not feeling well?" He asks you in a whisper.
You lift your head and regret it. The dull ache behind your eyes intensifies and you squint your eyes when you turn to look at him, seeing him as a figure blurring over every time you blink.
"It's just a headache, I'll be okay."
"Not to sound mean, but you look like you haven't slept in over a week."
You tilt your head. "It's Friday today. Are you insinuating I've looked like an insomniac all week?"
Behind his glasses, his eyes flare with poorly concealed dread.
"No!" In unison, you both wince at the increased volume. He continues in a low tone.
"You're always breathtaking. I just mean you look like you're tired and in pain. Why don't you go home?"
Your brain short circuits at the first part of his sentence. When you get home later, you're going to write this down in your journal and decorate the sentence with hearts surrounding it. You're always breathtaking.
"I, uh.." You rub your eyes, struggling to concentrate on your answer. "It's Friday anyway, I can make it through another few hours. And I already left early last week when I had a dentist appointment."
"But, you're not feeling well?"
You shrug. Leaving early again, especially as a reporter, isn't seen in a positive light by higher-ups and you love your job. You also love being able to pay rent.
He pokes his cheek with his tongue, looking around the room. He regards you and rushes off towards Perry's office. You blink, staring at the empty place where he had just stood, unable to comprehend why he disappeared.
Clark is back in less than a minute and grips your elbows softly, slowly pulling you up and out of your chair. He ignores your protests and directs you out of the newsroom.
"Clark, where are you taking me?" You mutter lethargically.
"You and I are taking a small trip to the storage room. I told Perry we're going there to find older articles to use as references."
"But we don't need references."
"What Perry doesn't know won't hurt him. At least," he pushes open the door, "there aren't any overhead lights in here. This will help your eyes, even if just for a small period of time. Have you taken any Ibuprofen yet?" He pulls out a chair for you, guiding you to sit.
"Yeah but they haven't kicked in yet."
"If it gets worse, tell me. I'll talk to Perry and walk you home." He nods firmly, waiting for your response.
At your nod of acknowledgement he grins and starts looking through the latest newspaper publications. You clutch the chair handles and your breathing turns heavy at the knots swirling through your stomach. Clark is none the wiser, content with his new task.
He stopped in the middle of his own work to get you to a calmer space to rest.
A few hours later, when the pain medication turns out to be useless, he insists on walking you home. He carries your bag for you and walks you up to your door, bidding you a goodbye and a "Feel better soon, don't hesitate to message me if you need help."
His ears turn a bright red after you lean up to press a kiss to his cheek.
+1
Clark is tired. His exhaustion sinks deep into his bones and the cuts on his face and arms are stinging, blood sinking into his suit to leave a stain. He enters his apartment though the floor-to-ceiling windows and drops down onto his lounge sofa. There's sharp stabbing sensation in his side, but one glance reveals he has in fact, not been stabbed.
His groan fills the empty room, right as the light of a Lamp illuminates the previously dark room. He jumps up, so does his heart, and he feels sick to his stomach.
You stand next to the lamp, your arms crossed and a furrow in your brows. Your entire face is twisted into concern and worry, but that's not his priority right now. If this were any other situation he would try to ease your worries, but you're standing in his apartment and he isn't wearing his his Hypno-Glasses.
"Yes Clark, I know you're Superman." Your soft admission disarms him. You've known?
"I, I don't understand? How? When? Why didn't you tell me you knew?"
You let out a deep sigh, your eyes roving over the bloody cuts over him.
"When Superman came for the Interview. I recognised his eyes, Clark. They were yours. I was scared to tell you. How was I supposed to say it? Oh hey, I know you're secretly Superman. Can you come take a look at my article?"
A pause. "You knew it was me, just by my eyes?"
Your mouth sets in a straight line, but Clark knows you. It's your tick, you always have that expression when you're overwhelmed and words have escaped you. He runs a hand through his hair, hanging his head down. He had known the risk of interacting with you as Superman. He had been fully aware, and yet, he had needed to make you happy and get you on the front page. You needed to know your writing was spectacular and lured in everyone who read it, and he wanted to be the one to bring you that joy.
"Clark."
He hums, scared of what you're about to tell him. He knows you would keep it a secret, but what if this had ruined your friendship? What if he wouldn't be able to tell you he loves?
"Take off your suit."
Wait what? At the sound of utter disbelief he lets out, he sees you trying to repress a laugh.
"You're bleeding. Take off the suit. Or roll the sleeves up. And sit down."
Clark sits back down and rolls his sleeves up as much as he can, hissing when he pulls it over the small patches of abrasions and bruises. You come back with a First Aid Kit and perch yourself on the coffee table in front of him, opening the kit of bandages.
"Are you upset with me? Because I didn't tell you?" He asks as you carefully begin cleaning his injuries with a cleansing wipe. He has to know, even if there's a lump in his throat at the possibility that he might have ruined everything between you two.
"No, never." You pause to look him in the eyes. The same eyes that unknowingly gave everything away. You stick a band-aid on over the cut which has ceased its bleeding.
"I understand why you didn't tell me. Why you don't tell anyone. I'm not saying I fully know how you feel, I won't ever be able to see myself in your shoes. I do see why though. If people knew, your entire life would be based on that fact. Your identity as Clark would slowly be stripped away, because everyone would only see the strong superhero in your stead."
A deep feeling of relief spreads through him. He hadn't realised how much it would have crushed him if you'd reacted negatively. Sure, he would have respected your wishes, but with a heavy heart.
"But, you know I'm Superman. Do you not see me as him only? What I mean is-"
"I know you're Superman. But that doesn't mean you're not Clark anymore. You're still the Clark who comes from a small farm in Kansas, and you're still the Clark who is my best friend. You still are the loving person who means more to me than anyone else. Your identity doesn't declare who you are to me. Superman is a part of you, but so is Clark. Nothing has changed, except that now I know why you're always late or sneaking off. You, Mister Superhero, are still my Clark."
He can't describe the feeling in his chest and it's so strong it scares him. You accept him for who he is.
Hiding a secret is hard. Hiding a part of yourself is even harder. It starts to chip away at the soul and it makes you feel isolated, because it means no one truly knows an important part of you. He has found someone here, someone who he loves, and she knows about the half of him he's been hiding. And you're still here. With him. Cleaning up and taking care of him.
"I love you. I have loved you ever since I got to know you. You make my heart happy in ways I can't describe, but it feels like I'm on the highest cloud in the sky when you're near me. My- Half of my heart is in your chest, and I want you to have it forever. I want you so badly that it drives me insane. I want to protect you from everything, and to take care of you and love you for the rest of my life.
"But it's not easy with me. I, sometimes I have to leave during important events because somewhere, someone is in danger. I come home with bruises and you won't always be safe. You could be in danger because of me and if you get hurt because of me, I don't know how I can live with that."
You've stopped your ministrations and he can see tears threatening to fall down your cheeks. You drop the roll of bandages and you lean forward, resting your forehead against his.
"I love you Clark. Nothing will ever change that. I'll be here, by your side, no matter what happens. This is where I choose to stay, here with you. You have half of my heart in your chest too." You lay your hand against his chest, where his heart beats fast underneath.
"I'll take care of your heart if you take care of mine. I'm willing to risk anything, as long as it means I get to love you. I feel such deep love for you, every fiber of my being longs for you. I- It's impossible to put it into words, but you are a part of my soul, Clark. My heart stays here, with you. And when you are fighting something off, I'll be looking out night and day for you."
His face crumples and his chest stutters with a sob, and he cradles your face in his hands. The kiss isn't harsh, nor messy. It's soft and it feels like your souls are merging together to be one, a gentle promise to love each other unconditionally.
Your hand reaches up to rest at the nape of his neck, the other tangling itself into his dark black hair. You two kiss until you can't breathe anymore, separating and gasping for air with your faces still touching. You break out into a smile, and Clark can't help but dive in for another kiss.
"How did you know. That I would be. Coming here injured?" He presses kisses to your lips between his words, unable to stop himself now that he can show you all his love as much as he likes.
"I saw you on the news. You were injured and you looked so worn out that I ran over here immediately."
His heart is doing somersaults and he kisses you deeply, his hands moving to the back of your head and messing up your hair.
Later, when you complain about your tangled hair, he simply pulls you back in with a chuckle.
dividers by @uzmacchiato <3
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